“I’m not trying to turn you into me. I’m trying to turn you into you.” – Shifu, Kung Fu Panda 3
s I write this, I feel scared. In fact, I have spent my entire day [days even] NOT writing this – or anything else for that matter – because I always fear that I will not be able to provide you with enough value.
But let me start from the beginning:
I have been spending a lot of time recently thinking about all the people online who I admire; what I love about them, and what it is that draws me to their work. One thing I kept coming back to was how authentic they are, and how they just do their own thing. Unapologetically.
Even though they invest a lot of time, effort and vulnerability into their work, it seems effortless and full of genuine personality.
Every weak I crave to spend time with any version of them I have access to. I read their words, watch their videos, and listen to their voices. They are there for me in the morning as I get dressed, when I peel the potatoes, and when the universe knows I need a pick-me up.
But it’s not because their content is so radical, or every post delivers an epic paradigm-shift in a “my life will never be the same” kind of way, but because it is wonderful in a “being close to you makes me feel so good inside and happy,” kind of way.
What I think is YOU GET ME AND I AM SO HAPPY I FOUND YOU! Oftentimes, that is enough; it’s all I want. Sprinkle in some valuable anecdotes, insights, quotes, artwork and “aha” moments, and I’m happy in my nappy.
Do you ever have that feeling with people [online] and their work? Do you ever get that excited feeling of love that spreads in your stomach and as a smile across your face, when their images pop up or their new video is out?
They can be little rays of sunshine warming your face on a rainy day.
Going over these thoughts, however, I uncomfortably became aware of my emotions of jealousy towards these people. [I am very grateful that this jealousy was not infused with toxicity and malice, but with yearning and sadness.]
Why can’t I do the same? Why does creating, sharing, enjoying “the things I love” – feel so hard? When did I lose my joy; when did it stop being fun? When did I start fearing the blank page and replacing my creative endeavours with online browsing? When did writing and making up stories turn into consuming other people’s work and resenting them for doing it? When did I lose trust in my own abilities and that what I do is good enough; that what I love is good enough?